


once or twice

by challaudaku



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, Multi, SPRAVEY!, but it was due for a competition, i hate this pls dont read, so here it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24919153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/challaudaku/pseuds/challaudaku
Summary: Davey has no idea how that even works.He thinks he wants to find out.
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins/David Jacobs
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	once or twice

**Author's Note:**

> spravey #3 in the archive hell yeah!

“Spot said hello to you,” Davey says, finding Race after they all leave Jacobi’s. Race pauses and stares at Davey, cigar dangling at the edge of his lips.

“Nah, he didn’t,” Race says, adjusting his hat. 

“He did,” Davey replies, furrowing his brows together. “Jack told me not to tell you, but I thought I should anyway.”

“I know we call you Mouth,” Race says, brandishing his cigar at Davey, “but that doesn’t mean ya gotta run it. Eh? How’s ‘bout ya stay quiet?”

“I was just passing on a message,” Davey says, his eyes on the cigar in Race’s hand. “You’re friends with Spot?”

Race is silect for a moment, looking Davey up and down, and Davey’s not sure how he feels about being checked out like this.

“No,” Race says simply, and then he turns on his heel and walks away before Davey says another word.

…

Davey is sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, and when someone sits down next to him, he doesn’t look up from staring at the ground because he’s not really in the mood to talk to anyone right now. What a fantastic rally.

“Hi,” the other person says, and with a glance sideways, Davey can see that it’s Spot.

He had expected Spot, sooner or later. He figures that he deserves to be chewed out — or worse — for dragging Spot and his boys all the way to Manhattan for a failed rally, where their supposed leader —

He doesn’t want to think about it.

“Hi,” Davey says, looking back down at the street and bracing himself.

“Did ya talk to Race?” Spot says, instead of cursing Davey out. He’s so surprised that Davey looks over at Spot, and Spot has this little crease in between his eyebrows that Davey gets a weird urge to flatten out. Spot is frowning, but there’s something more in his eyes, and it takes Davey a second to realize that Spot is  _ scared _ .

It almost makes Davey want to laugh. He thought Spot was supposed to be all intimidating. How is he scared at the prospect of  _ Race _ ?

“Yeah, I did,” Davey says. “Race says he’s not friends with you.”

Spot shrugs a little bit. “He say anythin’ else?”

“Nope,” Davey says, popping the ‘p’. “Why don’t you talk to him yourself, huh? He was at the rally,” he adds, quietly, because he’s not sure if bringing that up is the best idea.

Spot’s quiet for a second, and he looks at Davey all over before shrugging a little bit.

“I ain’t gonna talk to Race,” he says simply. “Just tell ‘im that if he wants ta keep selling on my turf, he’d best say hello to me.”

“Race sells by you?” Davey asks, frowning, because he still knows  _ nothing _ about the newsies, not really.

“Yeah, he sells by Sheepshead Bay,” Spot says with a shrug. “The racetrack. ‘S’where he got his name from.” Davey frowns, because he knows Race is a Manhattan newsie — why does he sell in Brooklyn?

With a deep sigh, Spot stands up and pats Davey on the head. Davey doesn’t stop frowning.

“Hey, I like ya, Mouth,” Spot says, and Davey rolls his eyes at the dumb nickname. “Lemme know when ya figure out the strike’s next step, yeah?”

Without waiting for a response, Spot starts to walk away, leaving Davey to mull over his words.

It’s up to him to continue the strike.

…

When all is said and done, they have another rally. Except, this rally turns into more of a party, instead of the seriousity of the initial one. And there’s cause for celebration: they won!

Still, Davey can’t help but notice that there are two people, on opposite sides of the room, who aren’t quite joining in on the celebration. 

With a resigned sort of sigh, he decides to go over to Race first.

“I know I’m new here, but can you fill me in on something?” Davey asks, dropping down next to Race.

Race hesitates, as if he’s not sure why Davey’s asking him something. “Sure,” he answers anyway.

“What’s with you and Spot?” he asks simply. Race sucks in his cheeks, breathing hard.

“There ain’t anything with us,” Race replies after a beat. Davey can tell it’s a lie. 

“Can we at least  _ try _ and be realistic, please? I ain’t stupid, Race,” Davey replies, staring at Race’s face, who’s staring at the ground. “Spot said if you wanna keep on selling on his turf, you gotta say hello to him.”

Race doesn’t look any more happy than he did a second ago, but a lot of anger seems to leave him. He makes a humming sound in his throat, and Davey doesn't know why, but he longs to know why.

“Look, why don’t you just say hi to him?” Davey asks. “You can do it right now,” he says, pointing across the room to where Spot’s sitting in a corner, looking around the room, surly. 

Race’s lips twitch up into a smile after a moment, and he says, “I’ll go if you go with me.”

“Sure,” Davey says, without any hesitation. He stands up and holds out his hand. Race pauses for a second, but he grabs Davey’s hand anyway.

Together, they head across the room. Davey can feel Race slow down as they approach Spot, but he just squeezes his hand tighter and walks forward anyway.

“Hi, Spot,” Davey says, and Spot looks over at the two of them, his eyes widening a little bit. He looks them up and down, and his eyes linger on their hands. Suddenly hyper-aware of the contact, Davey drops Race’s hand. There’s a moment of silence, and Davey elbows Race in the side.

“Hi, Spot,” Race echoes. 

There’s three beats, and then Spot slowly starts to smile.

“Hi, Racer,” he says, ignoring Davey. Davey shifts, awkwardly, and he thinks he might not be needed anymore, if the way the two of them are staring has anything to say about it. 

When there’s silence again, Davey pokes a finger over his shoulder, and he opens his mouth to say words that don’t come out. 

Turning on his heel, he leaves.

…

Davey’s sitting on the fire escape outside of the lodge, and that’s where Race finds him.

“Hi, Daves,” he says, cigar dangling out of his mouth. Davey looks at him and smiles at him. He’s not sure why the smile feels forced. He doesn’t want it to be.

“Hey, Race,” he replies, aborting the idea of smiling.

“Thanks for makin’ me talk to Spot,” Race starts. “We were, uh, pretty _good_ _friends_ — if you know what I mean —” he says, bumping shoulders with Davey. Davey thinks he does, and he’s not sure why that makes him feel so bad. “We got into this argument, and we didn’t really talk, ‘til you’s was forcin’ us to, so thank you.”

“No problem,” Davey forces out, and he should be  _ happy _ that Spot and Race are talking again. That was his entire intention, right? Except for some reason, it makes him feel even worse.

He hates the idea of them being ‘ _ good friends _ ’. 

They’re silent for a few moments, and Davey looks over at Race, takes in his blond curls and his blue eyes, and Davey’s eyes scan over Race’s lips and he —

He’s jealous, he realizes, quite horribly. 

It’s not a nice feeling.

“I wanted to ask ya somethin’, actually,” Race says next, looking away from Davey quickly. “I’m not sure how to do it, honestly.”

Davey waits. 

And then, Race turns quickly and kisses Davey, hard. He tastes like the cigars he always smokes, but there’s something sweet on his tongue and it’s  _ intoxicating _ . Davey pulls away quickly.

“I thought you was talking to Spot,” Davey rushes out. 

“I was,” Race says, leaning back, eyes wide. “I  _ am _ . That’s what I wanna ask you ‘bout, but I have no idea how to do it properly.”

“ _ What _ ?” Davey asks, because this doesn’t make a lick of sense. “What did you wanna ask me?”

“I like you, a lot,” Race says, breathing out hard. “So does Spot.”

Davey still doesn’t get it. It takes five moments of him simply staring at Race for Race to throw up his hands with a groan.

“This is hopeless,” he says to the sky. And then, still looking at the sky, he asks, “Do you wanna be part of our thing?”

“Your thing,” Davey repeats. He’s  _ still _ not sure what the question is. Race doesn’t reply, and Davey racks his brain.

“Oh,” he says, quietly, after too long of a silence. Race looks at him, frowning hard. Spot and Race want him to  _ date _ them? Davey has no idea how that even works. 

He thinks he wants to find out.


End file.
